


Through A Mist Blindly

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Non-Graphic Non-con, non-graphic mention of intimacy, non-graphic mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a vindictive German General captures Casino and Meghada, he figures he holds all the cards.  But when he plays hide and seek with his victims in the mist and the fog, he may just find more than he bargained for.





	Through A Mist Blindly

"Damn it! Where are they??" Garrison was fuming and fretting.

Goniff watched him uneasily from the window where he was keeping a lookout for the others and nursing his bruises. "they 'ad to 'ave run into trouble, Warden. No way it'd take this long to make it 'ere." He was just as worried.

Chief was on a tattered blanket in the corner of the room, unconscious. The young Indian had been caught in the periphery of the explosion; they'd found no open wounds but he was concussed, obviously. Garrison, Chief and Goniff had been responsible for taking out the joint Italian-German command post where General Panollini was engaged in that fierce battle of wits with General Schwartzkoff. They'd left enough evidence behind to incriminate both generals, made it look like they'd each lost patience with the other and each decided to just take over, but it all going very wrong. Well, that worked, except for Chief getting so badly hurt.

Actor and Meghada had been at the big reception for the Italian General and his wife, picking up the package from the courier, with Casino tapping into the safe in the library, the one the courier hadn't been able to crack. General Schwartzkoff, far the more dangerous of the two officers, had been supposed to attend the reception, but Garrison thought he'd seen the tall German in the lightning flash of the explosion, so he wasn't sure of it. It had been an ambitious undertaking, perhaps too ambitious. Garrison hadn't been happy about splitting up the group, but there were too many moving parts, too many things that had to be accomplished almost simultaneously to do otherwise. Now, he had one team member with him, slightly battered from that run in with the burly guard; he had one man down, unconscious; and the rest well overdue.

Goniff stiffened, drew back, "someone's coming, Warden!" and Garrison held his gun at the ready, moving back against the wall out of sight. A faint whistle drew a quick exhalation of relief, "that's Actor!" Goniff frowned into the darkness, "don't see anyone with 'im." A tap at the door, then the tall Italian was inside.

"Where's Casino and Meghada?" Garrison said sharply.

"Schwartzkoff has them; they didn't see me; I followed, I know where they have them but needed the rest of you . . ."

Actor caught sight of Chief and hurried to his side, "what happened here?"

"He got caught in the explosion, has been unconscious since then."

Garrison heard the entire unpleasant story of a mission gone almost right - the courier had passed on the information in a small roll of microfilm to Meghada, Casino had gotten the safe open and that information handed off to Actor, but as they were taking their leave, Schwartzkoff had stormed onto the scene, accusing the Italian General of sabotaging the base. Actor had been close enough to the French doors to slip outside, but Meghada had not been and it appeared Schwartzkoff recognized her, though she'd made no mention of every crossing paths with him before, and latched onto her. Casino had been grabbed as he tried to get her free.

"And the information?" That got him a snarl from Goniff, to which he replied with an impatient, "yes, I know, but one thing at a time!" Goniff flushed; he knew Garrison was worried about the two missing team members too, but the officer had a job to do; Goniff didn't have to like it, but he did understand.

Actor looked grim, "I have the packet from the safe; Meghada still has the microfilm as far as I know; she had it when we separated." 

Again the team separated; Actor remained with Chief - someone had to stay and keep him safe, tend to him, and he was the one most qualified to deal with injuries. If the others didn't return, Actor knew the exit route, the Underground contacts; he would make the attempt to get Chief home. 

General Schwartzkoff was enormously pleased with himself. Yes, it's true his base was a disaster, but he fully intended to blame that on his co-commander, General Panollini, just as the responsibility for allowing spies into his villa and the information taken from his safe would be laid at his rival's feet. Soon he would be in charge here, and soon after that, moved on to someplace with more chances of glory for the Fatherland. Schwartzkoff was sure the two agents he'd captured had not been alone; they couldn't have accomplished everything that had happened by themselves, and there were those at the party who said the redhead had been on the arm of a tall Italian gentleman, distinguished, grey hair and small moustache, and that gentleman was now nowhere to be found. So, at least one more, possibly others. Well, he would start with the ones he had.

He smiled an eager smile, thinking about the woman he'd recognized from that so so embarrassing episode last year; yes, he was sure he would look back at this as the moment when so many things started turning his way. Fate, it was a beautiful thing.

"You think Beautiful got away?"

"I believe so; he was right next to the exit; he could have easily slipped out in the confusion. I know the General was shouting about 'that older man, the tall one', about searching for him. And since he is not in here with us, and no one has bragged to us about kiling him, I think that bodes well. The mess we saw on the way in shows that part of the plan accomplished something; we can only hope it went well all the way."

She and Casino were both being very quiet, careful not to give any listeners any more information than they already had. He had looked the question at her, words not being needed, but she shook her head, assuring him she didn't have the microfilm and he relaxed slightly. Meghada was uncomfortably aware of the small roll she had tucked up into her braids; it was important Schwartzkoff not get this, but they had no real way to destroy it, not in here. She hated lying to Casino, but for his own sake she had to. She looked at Casino, licked her lips, then realized how appropriate that action had been. She grimaced and thought to herself, {"there are far too many lives at stake to let him get his hands on the list. There is little reason to think he knows of its existence, but if they do a really thorough search they will find it for sure. And I can't put Casino in the position of trying to conceal anything more than he already knows.}

She sighed, "Casino, turn around, let me massage your shoulders; you must be quite stiff from where that guard hit you with his rifle." He looked at her like she was nuts; with all they had to worry about, she was concerned about that?? Then he saw the look in her eye, understood she wanted him to just play along, if not why, and just did what she asked. Working with Garrison had gotten him accustomed to stuff like that; he'd never liked it, but it was becoming second-nature now.

"Yeah, that'd help, kid, thanks," and he turned in place, still crosslegged on the floor, but now facing away from her. He shifted his legs so his knees were upright, bent, so he could rest his folded arms, then his head. There was a slight pause, a slight shifting as she moved behind him, and leaned into his back, and in the faintest of whispers, "I ditched it on the way over; hell, I wouldn't even know where to look for it!", felt him relax even more at that welcome news, and she gently, firmly began massaging his neck and back and shoulders.

{"Hell, if I'm gonna die, might as well get a little bit of enjoyment first,"} he thought as he felt his muscles relax. If it hadn't been Meghada he might have considered something even more enjoyable for his last bit of time on earth, but she belonged to his best friend, or maybe it was the other way around, but it put her off-limits even at a time like this. He actually found himself drifting off into a light doze; she slowly eased her strokes into something much more soothing, then ceased as she felt him move into actual sleep. She'd let him get what rest he could; she figured he would need it. Meanwhile, it was time for a little snack.

They were separated the next morning. Her morning with the General was less than pleasant, but she endured. The General had recognized her, well, almost. It was another of the Clan he'd come up against, but he didn't know there were others with the same features, and she had no intention explaining that to him, not with the plainly unpleasant memories he had of that previous encounter. If she ever had the opportunity, there were a few other things she might just explain to him, but not THAT.

She was taken back to the same cold cell, found Casino already there. He'd been worked over, was battered and bruised, but at least he still had his clothes on. Just a man's oversized shirt was thrown into the cell after her, her own things had been torn to pieces during the initial stages of that 'interview', and Casino raged as he saw her.

"Shush, just give me the shirt, can you?" He watched helplessly as she tore the sleeves from the shirt to clean off the blood and other fluids, then helped her into the garment.

"Kid . . ", but there really wasn't too much he could say or do that would help, and she'd told him early on not to make any show of affection, nothing that might give their captors new and inventive ideas.

She gave him a grim smile as she regathered her hair and worked it into a rough braid, "nothing worse than what you encountered, just different. Don't worry about it." He didn't understand how she could smile at him like that, but later, in the stillness of the night, he understood more. Something about the way she produced that bloodied slip of metal she'd snitched during all the activity, concealed along her jawline like he carried his own spring steel, except while his had been lost earlier in the mission, this, this was here, and now in the darkness, his smile matched hers, determined and vengeful. The guard outside was too slow in rousing from his doze to stop them; his little act of negligence was his last. 

Casino's beating slowed him down, as did her morning's experience, and they both felt the hot breath of the General on their necks. It didn't help when a heavy fog started rolling in, and by the time they reached the perimeter, they could barely see their hand in front of their face. She knew Casino was on his last legs, knew she had to find transportation. They both stilled when they heard that little whistle off in the distance, how far, they couldn't tell; the bedamned fog distorted everything, sound as well as sight. She found what looked like the best spot to stash Casino, knowing he couldn't go wandering around in the fog. She breathed into his ear, "if I don't make it back, once the fog eases up, straight back is a likely way out. You know the drill." He didn't like it, but he didn't protest; he knew there weren't many options left. She had to be hurting, but he was in worse shape, at least less able to manoeuvre quietly or quickly after that blow to his knee had him hobbling like an old man.

Garrison and Goniff moved through the fog, keeping within arms length, reaching out to maintain touch every couple of feet; the danger of being separated, taking each other for the enemy was too great otherwise. Garrison had just given that tiny whistled signal for what seemed like the tenth time, expecting to hear the same thing he'd heard before, which was nothing. This time though, there was an answer, though not the one they'd hoped to hear.

The General's voice was loud and clear, well, as clear as the fog would let it be. "Is that you, my dear? That was very naughty of you, leaving before we were finished. And I though you enjoyed our time together this morning!" As the General continued, Garrison grabbed Goniff by the shoulder, warning him against reacting to any of it. He wasn't sure he'd be successful; the General was quite explicit about the mornings activities, and Goniff, by the tenseness in his body, had to be feeling the impact even more than Garrison.

"And that man who was with you. While his morning wasn't so amusing, I'm sure it was quite strenuous; I can't imagine he's of much help to you in this little jaunt. Leave him, come back to me. It'll be better for you, you know, if you come back voluntarily rather than making me come find you. I've spent so long thinking about our next meeting; I've planned such delightful things for us to enjoy together. I believe we might even include your friend in some of the activities; wouldn't that be lovely?" He continued on in that vein, explaining some of his plans. Obviously he liked the sound of his own voice; it was perhaps telling that his was the only voice to be heard, only his muted footsteps, only his breathing. It seemed the General liked his pleasures to be private ones.

Meghada listened in the damp fog; she had his voice pinpointed now; his words were immaterial, unimportant, just as what had occured that morning was immaterial, unimportant. She dared a tiny whistle, knowing it would send him in her direction, hoping whoever from the team was out there would signal in return, letting her know where he, maybe they were. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when that tiny note came back, and she replied with a quick chirp, telling them, yes, them from that signal, to stay put. She couldn't afford to mistake them in the thick greyness surrounding them all.

The problem was, their positions were too close to each other and she had been weakened by her earlier experience. The General had issued a fairly substantial beating in addition to all his other activities and she was not moving well. It was one of the times she really wished she had the abilities of her sisters instead of her own; a quick Change to Wolf and the dear General would be bleeding out in seconds, his throat bloody ruins in her teeth.

She blinked, {"well, maybe he still will be," } realizing she'd heard nothing to indicate he had other men with him, and her hearing was beyond excellent. {"It would be like the egotistical bastard to come out alone, thinking he'd have no problem with either of us."}

She smiled a very grim smile; it was dangerous to risk anyone seeing her during a Change, {"I mean, it's not like anyone would mistake ME for a large dog!",} but being dead was rather dangerous too. And it was well known that a heavy fog, well, people's imagination caused them to see all manner of things in a fog. And as far as the ultimate danger was concerned, the danger to the Clan, if she perished, she would revert almost instantaneously to this more accustomed form. However, she rather thought she was more than a match for a German General, even one as nasty as this one.

She quickly removed her only clothing, that shirt she'd been granted, and there in the fog the General's fate was sealed. She made sure to get close enough for him to get a good look at her face before that happened, though. She owed him that, at the very least. There was no time for anything more, and that was regrettable, but necessary. Still, she would relish the memory, that is, if she survived.

Garrison and Goniff crouched together in the darkness, straining to see, hear anything. After that last little chirp, there had been silence, then the General started talking again, more of the same. That ceased with a wild terrified scream, a thump, a thrashing, then silence and the heavy coppery smell of blood, the bitter tang of death. They rushed forward, in time to be tossed off their feet by a rush of wind, and in the swirling misty fog they saw . . . . Something, nothing, at least nothing that made any sense.

Garrison described it later to Actor, " the fog was distorting everything, magnifying everything so it looked like . . . Well, like nothing I can even describe. I think I probably had a little bit of a concussion too, though I hadn't stopped long enough earlier to notice. That and the fog . . ." He shook his head in aggravation at himself, his errant mind.

Goniff had assured them HE certainly hadn't seen anything, "too busy trying to keep my 'ead down, mates; think I'm crazy??! Aint no soldier boy, no 'ero, told you all that before!" Chief wasn't sure he believed their pickpocket; there had been just a hint of, Chief wasn't sure what, maybe sly amusement, maybe just knowledge, but as always, he figured his team mates had secrets they kept for their own good reasons, just like he did, and didn't press.

The trip back to the safe house was slow, neither Casino or Meghada moving well. They'd left the body in the field; no one had a good look with that blasted fog still hanging on, but Meghada assured them the General was dead.

"Oh, yes, he is quite dead, I promise you. No mistake about it," and the very grim smile on her face assured them she was right. Well, she'd never been a one for half-way measures, Garrison and the rest of the team knew that quite well, and from the General's little soliloquy she'd had plenty of motivation for making sure.

Not even Goniff touched her on the trip back; each thought it would be best to be able to see her face, her eyes, get a good read on her frame of mind before they attempted that, even in comfort. They collected Actor and Chief, who had by now regained consciousness, but a troubling blurriness in his vision worried them all. They made it back to the exit point, the first small boat had gotten to the sub, was offloading Actor and Chief and Casino when she abruptly told Goniff and Garrison, "gotta be sick," and turned to move a few steps away. Then she was on her knees, vomiting fiercely. She ripped yet another piece from her shirt to wipe her mouth, and then leaned forward again. The boat was almost back, and Garrison was worried she was going to start up again, but she didn't, just gave a little grunt of satisfaction. She dropped the cloth, and joined them, letting them half lift her into the boat, she was so trembly on her feat.

It was only when they sat down in the mess, a cup of bad coffee in front of each of them, her in a borrowed uniform, she handed over that little roll of microfilm. "Here you go, Lieutenant. Hope it's still readable."

Casino's jaw dropped, "but you said . . .!"

"I know; I thought they were probably listening in. I didn't know if they knew about the film; if they did, I wanted them to believe neither of us knew what was on it, certainly didn't have it on us; might keep us alive awhile longer. I couldn't let them find the film by accident either, and since I had it tucked up under my braids, that was a real possibility during a thorough search. There was no way to destroy it, not in there."

"So, where?? Ya sure weren't wearing anything when ya back to the cell! And he sure woulda found it when . . ." Casino burst out, then flushing, realizing that was something probably better not said or implied. But her smile, though grim and ever so tired, was one of satisfaction.

"I swallowed it."

Garrison shook his head, "then there on the shore, you retrieved it," and she nodded.

Goniff let out a breath of relief, "glad to 'ear that, luv; worried me, that did; not like you to get a twitchy stomach!" and the other men just looked at him like he was an idiot. Surely with what she'd gone through, casting up her accounts was the least that could be expected.

But she didn't take offense, seemed both amused and pleased at his words, "no, laddie, one twitchy stomach in the family is enough. But I wouldn't mind a bit of a hug," and he held out his arms in honest clean welcome, and pulled her close. From the deep sigh coming from that bent red head, that was exactly what she needed.

Chief was spending the time in the infirmary, letting their doctor do what little he could for him. By the time they got back to London, the blurriness was gone, but then, so was his sight.

"Attica? Are they nuts?? He got hurt doing the damned job, and they're gonna send him back to Attica? You have any idea what kindda chance he has back there? It was bad enough before, but not being able to see to even try and protect himself?? What the hell is wrong with those guys??" Casino's diatrabe was similar to the one the others had given, when they heard.

Garrison was still in London, whaling away at anyone who would listen, who had any chance of changing what the bigwigs had in mind. No, probably not the bigwigs; the fate of one blind half-breed con wouldn't have been even a blip on their radar. This was some desk jockey, looking at the facts. Garrison listened, lips tense and white with anger, at the last one he'd tried.

"Lieutenant, you must face facts. The agreement was for service for the duration plus six months; he obviously is no longer in any condition to be of service, the agreement stipulates should that happen for any reason whatsoever, he will be returned. I really don't see why you are being so unreasonable; surely you can find someone else with his qualifications. I've looked at his file and I am certain the prisons in the United States, indeed the prisons HERE are quite well supplied with such ruffians."

He argued, argued 'services rendered', argued 'injured in the line of duty', explaining that the provision was if Chief or any of the others became unmanageable or escaped, not this circumstance; that it was possible Chief's sight could return, that possible surgery might restore it if time didn't; the first and second and all the rest got only a firm shake of the man's head in dismissal, the last a look of sheer incredulity.

"You cannot possibly think we could waste our resources in that manner. Our specialists have quite enough to do treating our men at arms and others; we could hardly ask them to . . ."

It took a restraining hand on his shoulder to prevent Garrison from delivering an even more fervent example of his unreasonableness. He turned, furious, shoving the hand off his shoulder, but froze as he looked into the face in front of him.

The tall broad shouldered man, shook his head reprovingly, "now, Lieutenant, you know you were to meet me an hour ago for that follow-up examination, and you were NOT to allow yourself to get agitated."

The man identified himself to the thoroughly bewildered man sitting behind that desk as Garrison's assigned physician, "you really must forgive the Lieutenant; that concussion is still troubling him quite a lot, you know. Now, come along, Lieutenant Garrison, my office is expecting us; we have those additional tests to run."

Garrison said nothing til they were in the car, then he turned, "Michael, we can't just . . ."

That garnered him an exceedingly satisfied, if slightly grim smile from Michael O'Donnell, physician, oldest brother to Meghada O'Donnell. 

"We are not going to 'just' anything, Lieutenant. As we speak, orderlies are collecting Chief to take him down for one last set of x-rays; along the way, they are going to somehow lose him. Possibly they stopped for a smoke along the way, who knows. They will be totally bewildered by it all, of course. Since they are volunteers, earnest, willing but perhaps not overly bright, little can be done other than issue a reprimand, perhaps gently encourage them to volunteer their services somewhere else. Of course, someone else might have found that gurney and simply moved Chief to another area of the hospital, and they've simply lost track of him. They can amuse themselves trying to figure it all out; we have more important things to do. And Lieutenant, we have our own specialists we can go to, ones who have slightly different priorities than the military. Let's see what they have to say before we decide on any further moves, um?"

Craig Garrison swallowed heavily, shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, shaking a little now with reaction. He thought again back to the days when he wondered whether having the O'Donnell woman as a friend was a good thing or not, considering her temper and her propensity for devious and often radical behavior. He'd stopped questioning that a long time ago; {"one of the luckiest things that ever happened to us!"}. Their surviving the war might depend on fate; their surviving the Allied Command, well, that might depend on the Clan, Meghada and her family.

***

It had been his own decision, returning to the team. He was fit and strong once again, but since the military had finally come to the conclusion that he was just gone, Garrison had given him the option of staying where he was, in the company of Clan O'Donnell, sitting out the rest of the war. Chief wasn't like Casino or even Goniff; he didn't have a family back home depending on that parole to start up free contact again once hostilities were over and done. Garrison just got a calm look, just a flicker of a smile, "been gone too long, Warden. I'll get out when everyone else does. Meghada says it's all fixed whichever way I wanted to play it; this is what I want."

The mood in the Common Room was a festive one, lots of laughter, backslapping and all the rest. They'd known he was safe, being cared for, but hadn't dared go near him for fear of tipping off someone at HQ.

Understandably, the mood at HQ was NOT a festive one, but a thoroughly perplexed one. "What does Garrison mean, about the pay packets for that man being late? What pay packets? He's gone, vanished, isn't he? AWOL if not worse!"

They contacted Major Kevin Richards who informed them they were quite mistaken.

"Really, don't understand your position. He's been in hospital, then a recovery facility, but back up to full speed now; headed out on a mission with his team just yesterday," his face showing his puzzlement at their inquiry. They stuttered and declared and did all kinds of things, explaining how Chief had disappeared over a month ago.

"No, no, gentlemen. Quite the contrary. Oh, yes there was that mixup with the orderlies at first, but he was simply misplaced for awhile; one of the nurses found him in a hallway, rather like lost luggage, and on seeing the chart detailing his injuries, had him moved to the appropriate area for his sort of injury. They saw fit to transfer him further, and when he was finally seen by a specialist, well, they were able to deal with things quite nicely. When they were ready to release him, his commanding officer was notified, came to fetch him. As far as a reprimand, you really must be joking! Would love to see how you word that, you know. Can't see he did anything except endure whatever was given to him to endure, including being left in a hallway while his attendees went to enjoy a smoke; it was hardly HIS fault communication fell down somewhere along the line. All quite above board, I assure you."

Later, Kevin Richards recalled the looks on their faces and snorted, {"well, as above board as you are likely to get with the Clan!"}

Garrison had been a little, no, more than a little impressed with Goniff. There were men he'd known who would have, however unreasonably, held what had happened against the young woman, found it distasteful enough to alter their feelings at least somewhat. That didn't seem to be the case here, though; although Goniff was maybe more watchful than usual, it was in a protective way, and his manner toward her unchanged except for being a bit careful in touching her unless she knew he was right there. All in all, it was much like the pickpocket and the rest of the team had treated him after that session with that Gestapo major and his aide.

Somehow, with the intimate relationship Garrison knew existed between those two, he had wondered if this would be different. When he'd, very hesitantly, said something, the Englishman had looked at him with a very odd look.

"She didn't choose w'at the General did; ruddy 'ell, even if she 'ad, thinking it might keep 'er and Casino alive along enough to maybe get out, you think I'm supposed to 'old that against 'er?? Sometimes you're given no choice, other times you make the best choices you can from w'at's available. I'm a lotta things, Warden, but I'm no 'ypocrite. May be an idiot sometimes, I know that; not THAT much though, never THAT much. No, it'll be up to 'er bout when she's ready, but for me, w'at 'appened, that 'as nothing to do with 'er and me." There was a look in his pale blue eyes that Garrison couldn't interpret.

Garrison was once again wondering just who, what his little pickpocket truly was. The more he knew, the more it seemed he had to discover. Funny, just how much that thought appealed to him, intrigued him. Though part of him was a little afraid of what he might find, at least he told himself that little tremble inside was apprehension, not something quite different.

The Cottage was dark, warm, the woman he held in his arms equally warm.

"Just what are you easy with, luv; I mean no more than that til you're ready." His voice was an odd and hesitant mixture of harsh and soft, nothing a stranger would have been able to make anything of. Her voice was soft and harsh as well, "you, my laddie, nothing more, but nothing less either; it's you I need." And while anyone listening might have been confused, puzzled by the dialogue, the two speaking weren't confused, not in the least. And the sounds, and all else that manifest itself in the night, would have explained all of that. Even to those who were somewhat slow in understanding.


End file.
